A FINAL PORTRAIT

Here we are, yet again in proximity

all braced up for a grand enterprise

A word picture awaits a final portrait of yours,

to capture the one who I insanely prized.

An only plea, just be yourself

this image has to mirror the real you.

No put-on, no facade, no assumed countenance

'a mere smile', begs this amateur artist and nothing new.

A fantastic and collegial setting

despite the past clash.

Don't we still strike the right chord

holding an appropriate measure of dash.

You look nice with that frown

with your raised eyebrow.

Should I repeat this portrait goes to me

and no other woman gets to say a 'wow'.

I mean, why let a look go futile

when everything you do has an angle.

After all we all adore your artful maneuvers

and know it when your eyes spangle.

It seems so facile to paint you now

when time left you no whit of shame.

It's just you, a stark lie

my hands yet sense the old flame.

My painting brush looks grief-stricken

unable to hide your ersatz virility.

Wish my loving words redeem the lost honor

and remind you of my affection infinity.

And so it ends, with you beaming so large

with three long years culminating into an unbecoming image.

Your love never soared high like Invictus,

it just got lost in the maze. 

Now whenever I'll behold this portrait

I shall always be reminded 

of lost humanity, divestment of a sham,

dearth of emotions and an affair sordid.